


A Suite Deal

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Architects, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Architects, Cabins, Coworkers - Freeform, Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Interior Designers, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Winter, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: Forced to attend his architectural and design firm's "winter retreat," Sandor Clegane - architect and first-class grump - is certain the gods are out to get him when he discovers that his cabin rental reservation for the weekend has gone missing in action.  He quickly realizes, however, that sometimes when it seems like life just can't get any worse, it does.But then you get a roommate.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 233





	A Suite Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaxBetta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxBetta/gifts).



> This story was written for the Sansan Secret Santa event on Tumblr. The prompt was posted by @maxbetta (MaxBetta on AO3):
> 
> "cabin, snowing, fireplace, one bed."
> 
> From my conversations with MaxBetta about her preferences, I created this fluffy little rom-com ditty about Sandor, the grumpy architect, and how life throws him a very sweet curveball.
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This. Can’t. Be. Happening. . ._

Swiping his huge hand over his face in frustration, Sandor Clegane heaved a heavy breath. He was a man on the verge of a nuclear-level meltdown, and it was only 8:26 A.M.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the petite brunette said as her well-manicured hands continued to clickety-clack away on the keyboard in front of her, “but I don’t see a reservation under that name.”

“Are you sure you spelled it right?” Sandor fired off his name at lightning speed. “S-A-N-D-O-R-C-L-E G-A-N-E.”

“Yes sir, I know how to spell it,” the clerk replied, her formally syrupy-sweet tone tinged with a hint of salt. “You’ve already spelled it for me twice.”

Sandor’s jaw clenched. “Humor me, then. Look again.”

“Sir, I’ve already checked - ”

“Look. _Again_.” His voice, low and ominous like the first crackles of a thunderstorm, rumbled through the rental office where a gaggle of his coworkers were mingling in the common area and partaking of the continental breakfast. Several sets of eyes flashed his direction, but he didn’t care. He was used to being gawked at.

The front desk clerk’s hands froze, her entire body stiffening where she sat. “Certainly, sir.” Without making eye contact at the massive man hovering over her desk, she dove back into her search to find his missing cabin rental reservation.

As the clerk resumed her quest, Sandor inhaled and exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers on the counter in an endless rhythm while trying to keep his notoriously short temper in check. It was a difficult task any given day of the week, but today was exceptionally rough. There was nothing quite like facing a weekend chock full of company-required “team bonding” while trapped in some cheesy, touristy resort to make a man want to slit his own throat.

And that’s exactly why he’d risen at the ass-crack of dawn so he could make the two-plus hour drive from King’s Landing to Winterfell today instead of spending an extra night at the resort with his coworkers like the rest of Golden Lion Designs had done. Oh, _hell_ no. He wasn’t about to spend any more time than necessary stuck up here. Two days and nights worth of “trust building exercises” and “karaoke nights” were more than enough torture for a man whose only objective in life outside of work was to be left alone.

Sandor’s attention was momentarily diverted when a raucous round of merriment burst forth from the common area. Pivoting where he stood, he rolled his eyes when he saw who was responsible. By the coffee machines stood his arch nemesis holding court with several of their female colleagues, the pack of women tittering like a bunch of feral high school girls at whatever witty thing the handsome blond architect had thought to say.

Turning back toward the front desk, Sandor did his best to ignore Lannister and the rest of the adults milling about the common area before the first round of training seminars and break-out discussions occurred. Christ almighty, he hated this type of bullshit. Stupid company with its stupid “retreat.” The only type of retreat he wanted was the one which had him jumping into his truck and hauling ass back to the sanctuary of his condo.

Still staring at the clerk as she searched and searched, Sandor grumbled when the bane of his existence approached him.

“Good morning, Clegane!” the over-the-top, cheery voice bellowed at him.

“What’s so good about it?” Sandor snapped.

Flashing his professionally whitened teeth, the lean, muscular man in the designer-label jeans and fitted blue button-down leaned against the counter next to him. “So pleasant as always, I see.”

“Bugger off, Lannister,” Sandor all but snarled as Jaime’s high-end cologne burned the hairs inside his hooked nose. “I’m in the middle of something.”

Unfazed, Jaime pressed onward. “You know, your presence was sorely missed at ‘board game night’ last night.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“I’m serious!”

“That’ll be the day.”

Jaime chuckled at Sandor’s rising irritation. “Dontos and Lancel especially were saddened that you bailed out on coming up early,” Jaime continued. “They brought that game the three of you like to play. You know, the nerdy little number with all the funny-shaped dice and bizarre role-playing cards.”

Sandor all but growled. “Don’t you have something else to do? Like, maybe go put some more gel in your hair?”

Ignoring Sandor, Jaime’s brow wrinkled in pretend concentration. “What was the name of that game. . .oh, wait a minute – I remember!” He snapped his fingers for added drama. “‘Dumbasses and Dragons!’ That was it!”

While Jaime laughed at his own joke, Sandor braced himself against the counter, white-knuckling the rim to keep his hands from forming into fists and introducing themselves to his tormentor’s chiseled chin. As tempting as the idea may have seemed, however, Sandor knew better. Punching his employer’s eldest son – the heir to the architectural and interior design firm where Sandor had worked for the last seven years – was probably not the best plan of action if he wanted to stay gainfully employed.

“I’m so very sorry, sir,” the clerk interrupted the two men locked in their never-ending battle of wits, “but I’ve looked through our entire reservation system for all our rental properties both here in Winterfell and over in Vale, but there is no record of the name you’ve given me listed anywhere.”

Sandor gritted his teeth so hard, he was sure he’d chipped a crown. He was about to snap while standing here, duffle bag by his huge feet, while Jaime Fucking Lannister and his pretty face stood there smirking at him and his misfortune.

“Fine,” Sandor huffed. “Whatever. Let’s pretend I didn’t make my reservation months ago at his wretched place. Just give me whatever you have available and be done with it.”

With a slight gulp, the front desk clerk peered at him over the rims of her glasses, her face contorting into the same doe-in-the-headlights expression he’d been privy to a million times over whenever he roused enough courage to ask a woman for her phone number. “Sir, I don’t think you understand,” she said after clearing her throat.

“Understand what?” He snorted in displeasure. “How utterly incompetent you people are?”

“Uh, no. . .that’s not it. It’s that we don’t have any cabins available,” she replied, her voice so quiet he barely heard her.

“Come again?”

The clerk spoke hesitantly. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re booked solid. Every cabin here on our property has been rented out, thanks to your company’s conference.”

Sandor blinked as the information sunk in. He’d made reservations at this godforsaken place over four months ago, the very moment when the memo from Tyrion, the head of HR and Jaime’s equally annoying younger brother, about the upcoming retreat from hell had landed on his desk. Not only were all employees required to attend but also to pick a buddy with whom they’d share a cabin during the entire retreat because it would enhance the “bonding” experience.

 _Not in my bloody lifetime,_ Sandor had thought while calling the rental office to book a cabin for him and him only. Old Man Lannister was lucky he was even agreeing to attend such a farce - there was no way he was sleeping in the same cabin with _anyone_.

But now here he stood, almost three hours from home with a non-existent cabin rental, who knows how far away from the nearest hotel, with less than thirty minutes until the morning festivities began. If he’d known what he knew now, he would’ve avoided this whole ordeal. He would’ve called in sick and stayed in bed, basking in the comfort of his man cave. He could’ve gotten up late, had himself a coffee in peace, and worked on his latest project while lounging on the couch and watching Sports Center.

This was it. He’d hit his limit. Mount Saint Sandor was about to erupt.

“I don’t fucking believe it! You’re telling me that there’s not a single, goddamn - ”

“Now, now, Clegane,” Jaime swiftly cut in, holding up his hand and abruptly silencing Sandor, “there’s no need for one of your intricately woven tapestry of expletives.” He pointed to the couches in the common area, motioning for Sandor to leave. “Go have a seat over there and let me handle this.” With his full attention bouncing from Sandor to the front desk clerk, Jaime flicked his head, his shaggy golden locks fluttering into place as he scrutinized the clerk’s name tag. “I’m sure we can work something out. . . Lollys, is it?”

The clerk nodded, her eyelashes batting and her cheeks flushing as red as two freshly picked apples.

“Such a pretty name for such a pretty lady,” Jaime crooned when the young woman giggled.

As Jaime amped up the charm, Sandor all but gagged. He snatched his bag off the floor and stomped toward the common area while wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. The fireplace in the center of the massive room was roaring away at full-steam, the multiple logs snapping and popping as the spikey orange flames danced about. Grimacing at the sight, he veered toward the unoccupied chair farthest from the heat of the fire. He threw his bag down and flopped with a thud onto the cushion, cursing under his breath that if Jaime did manage to get him a cabin, he’d camp out here in the lobby just for spite.

Glancing around the common area, Sandor didn’t really focus on any one person, his gray eyes jumping about while he tried not to be obvious who he was actually searching for in the crowd of coworkers. On the drive up, he’d hoped to run into a certain someone this morning before everyone scattered to complete whatever activities were on their respective itineraries. The idea of spending a weekend up here at this dumb resort, precariously perched on the side of a mountain colder than a polar bear’s tit, became a little more tolerable if he thought he might get to spend a few minutes here and there chatting with Sansa, the ethereal beauty who’d captured his fancy almost six months ago when she’d first started working at Golden Lion Designs.

Visions of flaming red hair and pale blue eyes drifted into his consciousness as the voices of his coworkers faded into the background. Her long, lithe form - so utterly regal and graceful – captivated him, her sheer perfection haunting him day in and day out. Whenever she condescended to touch his forearm or his shoulder while they interacted, her soft, smooth hands seared his skin. And he ought to know, considering what he’d been through thanks to his psychopathic older brother long ago.

Like always, a slip of a smile stretched across his scarred face while thinking about Sansa. She was a woman like no other. She was kind and genuine, smart and sweet, and truly cared about people. She had the patience of a saint, and she never had a bad word to say about anyone, including him, which was also grounds for her canonization. She was also so fucking far out of his league, he’d have a better chance at winning the lottery twice than getting a girl like that to be his.

Sandor’s daydream screeched to halt when he noticed Jaime sauntering toward him, a key dangling from his hand.

“You can thank me later,” the blond said with his usual irritating smirk.

Sandor sighed. Yet again, Jaime’s looks got him exactly what he wanted. “Don’t count on it,” he huffed, jumping to his feet to snatch the room key out of his coworker’s hand.

“Ah, ah, ah. . .” Tall though not nearly as tall as Sandor, Jaime jerked his hand away before Sandor could grab them. “Not so fast.”

Sandor folded his arms in front of his chest. “What do you want now, Lannister?”

“Don’t you want to know who your suitemate is?” Rocking back and forth on his heels, Jaime wet his lips in anticipation of the pending pyroclastic blast.

“Suitemate?” Sandor’s mouth hit his chest as his eyes popped out of their sockets. “What the. . .now, wait a minute - I wasn’t supposed to have a roommate. I was supposed to have a cabin to myself.”

“I’m afraid they accidentally gave your cabin to someone else, but have no fear. I just got off the phone with your new roomie, and they’re more than happy to share their cabin. . .and bed. . . with you for the weekend.”

Images of Beric and Dontos and Bronn and – _shudder_ – Tormund – lying in bed with nothing but their t-shirt and boxers flashed before Sandor’s eyes.

“No fucking way,” he said while violently shaking his head. “No. Fucking. Way.”

“Come, come now, Clegane, don’t be so quick to say no.”

“You’re nuts, you know that?” In a flurry of rage, Sandor stooped to jerk his duffle bag off the ground.

“I’m looking forward to hearing all the details about your ‘bonding’ experience,” Jaime added with wink. “Don’t hold anything back!”

“Bite me, Lannister,” Sandor snarled, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and storming off toward the exit. He was threw with this bullshit. He was abandoning ship immediately. Fuck the retreat and all the fucking Lannisters who cooked up this stupid scheme. There was no way Sandor Clegane was sharing a bed – let alone a room – with anyone. Tywin could go ahead and chew off both of his ass cheeks next week if he saw fit.

“Don’t you even want to know who your roommate is?” Jaime called out to Sandor as he marched onward, but still he refused to listen. To his surprise, however, just as the automatic doors parted before him, a swift swirl of snow drifted into the entryway along with the very woman who’d tormented his dreams for so long.

“Hey, Sandor!” Her mouth curved into a smile so radiant, it almost blinded him.

Immediately immobilized, Sandor stood fast, transfixed by the vision of loveliness squeezed into the form-fitting white turtleneck sweater and skin-tight black leggings. “Uh. . .hi, Sansa.”

She pointed her thumb behind her toward the sidewalk and parking lot in front of the rental office. “You heading over to the cabin?” 

Sandor swallowed, willing his voice not to crack. “Actually, I was just. . .”

“Thanks for helping me out, Sansa,” he heard Jaime’s smug voice from behind him. His head swiveled toward the sound, his jet-black hair whipping through the air.

“No problem,” she nodded at Jaime before looking up at Sandor once again. “Sorry to hear about the mix-up, by the way. I had no idea it was your cabin when they gave it to me.”

“Mix-up?” Sandor looked down at her then, his brain desperate to reboot as it struggled to process the strange, sudden turn of events unfolding before him. “My cabin?”

“Yeah, they must’ve gotten us confused because, apparently, we called in our reservations at the same time.”

“We did?”

“We did! Isn’t it funny?” Sansa laughed then, bumping Sandor’s arm with her fist. He said nothing in reply, though, since his traitorous mouth refused to budge while she stood there, the light breeze from outside kissing her hair and making it dance around in a ring of fire.

“It’s bloody outrageous,” Jaime said as he joined Sansa in her amusement. “Why don’t you tell him what happened?”

She grinned at Sandor so sincerely, his stomach lurched. “So, like, they had me entered as ‘Sansa Clegane’ and you as ‘Sandor Stark.’ That’s why they couldn’t find you. Or me, when I got here yesterday.” She laughed then, the sound filling his heart with joy. “I thought I’d sorted it all out last night when I checked in, but I guess the front desk clerk didn’t make the changes into the computer after all. So, yeah. . .” Sansa paused, her teeth gnawing her lower lip for a few beats before she completed her thought. “Looks like we’re going to be roomies.”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, Sandor remained silent as Sansa continued to smile up at him like it was the best thing that could’ve happened to her. Staring down into her bright eyes, he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been more baffled. How she could possibly think that rooming with her coworker – a single, _male_ coworker – was a good idea? Surely, she had to know gossip traveled faster than the speed of light at work. Everyone would know by the end of the day if not before then that she was sharing a room. . .and a bed. . .with. . .with. . .

This was insane. Utterly insane. He could barely manage to keep his wits about him when she sat near him while showing him her proposed fabric choices or custom details to go along with his plans. But being near her in the same room. . .in the same bed. . .Jesus H. Christ. He was going to get a hard on just thinking about it.

Pushing off her face a stray, red ringlet which had loosened from her ponytail, Sansa grinned at him as she slipped past him and hustled toward the food area. “Let me go grab a lemon danish or something, and I’ll be over in a minute,” she called out to him over her shoulder. “Just put your stuff wherever you can find room, and when I get back, I promise I’ll clear some space for you on the bathroom counter!”

Watching her depart, Sandor was certain his synapses had shut down permanently. He couldn’t think straight, and his vision was distinctly blurred.

“S-A-N-D-O-R-S-T-A-R-K.” Jaime chuckled as Sandor stood silent as a stone. “It does have a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Everything I’ve ever said about you, I take it all back,” Sandor mumbled as he held out his hand, still not making eye contact with anything but Sansa’s finely sculpted backside. “Except the part about you being Satan. That’s still true.” He also didn’t look away when Jaime, who’d instantly dropped the key in Sandor’s hand before giving him a whack on his broad back, laughed the entire distance as he walked toward the rest of their coworkers still chatting the morning away.

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This. Can’t. Be. Happening. . ._

_______________________________

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This. Can’t. Be. Happening. . ._

Swiping his huge hand over his face in frustration, Sandor Clegane heaved a heavy breath. He was still a man on the verge of a nuclear-level meltdown, and it was already 12:18 A.M

“The fuck are you doing, eh?” he mumbled to himself as he stood outside the entry to the cabin where Sansa was probably already fast asleep. _Just leave. Just walk away. . ._

Ever since this morning ( _wait – yesterday morning_ ) when he’d walked over to _their_ cabin and shoved his duffle bag into the bedroom closet of _their_ cabin and seen her rather silky unmentionables strewn about the bathroom floor of _their_ cabin, he’d been avoiding her like the plague. When the room began to spin on its axis as he’d stood there gawking like some creepy perv at her matching hot pink bra and panties laying on the black and white tile, he’d vowed to himself right then and there that he’d do everyone a favor ( _mostly him_ ) and stay as far, far away from _their_ cabin as possible to avoid the chance that he’d do something stupid this weekend.

Like believing for one minute that sharing a cabin with her was a good idea. Or letting his guard down and confessing his most ardent and undying affection for her. So to keep himself under control, he’d fled before she’d made it over and subsequently spent the entire day avoiding her, going out of his way to make sure he wasn’t in the same room longer than a few seconds.

He pretended he hadn’t seen her when he’d showed up for the first morning training session and she’d smiled and waved at him from her seat next to Brienne, the jolly blonde giant who acted more like Sansa’s guardian than her team leader. Then later in the day right before he’d been forced to submit to a round of “trust building exercises” with Lannister and the other architects present this weekend, he’d dodged her while grabbing a cup of coffee in the common area as she’d called out to him when exiting the conference room where Tyrion had just bored everyone shitless about the company’s vision for the coming year.

He’d had a close call at lunch when she’d appeared out of nowhere, tapping him from behind on his wide shoulders to get his attention. She’d smiled up at him so wide and friendly and inviting while he stood there in the buffet line that he’d almost lost his focus when she’d asked him if he’d like to join her and her tablemates once he’d grabbed his plate of food. For a brief moment, he almost forgot himself and gave in until she’d gone and chewed on that plump little bottom lip of hers while waiting for his answer. Damn him to the seven hells and back if that nervous little tic of hers didn’t shoot heat straight to his man parts. Instead of replying, he’d lunged for the table, cutting in between Dontos and Lancel, and snagged a handful of sandwiches before bolting out of the dining room like a cat on fire.

Since lunch he’d done much better keeping himself in check, making sure she’d seen neither hide nor hair of him the rest of the day. After the last company-sponsored torture session had ended, he hadn’t dared to return to the cabin in case she’d be there, so he’d lingered in the rental office and tried to blend into the wood paneling, hoping that as the night wore on, he’d figure out a way to sneak back into _their_ cabin and snatch his duffle bag from _their_ closet and go crash on the floor of Bronn and Jaime’s cabin. His back might bark at him for it, but he’d still get more sleep there than trying to fall asleep while only an arm’s length from the woman of his dreams.

Through dinner he’d skulked around like a whipped pup, not sitting down with anyone as he grabbed a bit of food from the buffet line here and there. When the karaoke machine got booted up in the common area, he’d slithered off to the great outdoors, taking his chances with the subfreezing temperatures rather than witness the glory of Sansa Stark singing like an angel. Finally, when from the safety of the gazebo he’d seen her walking all alone to _their_ cabin, he ducked back into the rental office and parked himself closer to the roaring fire than he’d ever imagined he would to try to reverse the frostbite overtaking him. And once his teeth had stopped clacking together, he’d headed straight for the bar in hopes that he could drink enough to forget the entire fiasco that was his miserable, lonely life.

But he couldn’t forget.

How could he forget when in the pocket of his jacket remained the key which could potentially unlock something far more wondrous than anything he’d ever experienced?

By accident, he’d found the cabin key stuffed there when frisking himself in search of his wallet so he could hand over a credit card to start a tab. Standing at the bar, the shiny gold object dangling from his huge paw, Sandor had sighed like a man resigned that no pardon was coming to suspend his execution.

There was no way in hell he’d ever get Sansa Stark out of his head.

He’d never forget the way her entire face lit up when she laughed or the way her lightly-freckled nose scrunched up when in deep concentration. He’d never forget the citrusy smell of her curly hair or the sweet fragrance of her perfume. He’d never forget, too, how she’d agreed to this nefarious scheme today– willingly – and appeared quite comfortable with the knowledge that his overgrown ass would be snoring beside her come nightfall.

He’d had himself a first-class out-of-body experience then as he floated above his enormous form, gazing down at the bartender he’d left standing there as he turned on his heels and marched straight for the cabin – _their_ cabin – to confront his fears. His brain and heart were at war with one another the entire way, his rational self screaming at this emotional side that he was a moron if he thought for one minute that a woman like her would ever want a guy like him. He was scarred and hairy and awkward and shy and full of rage stemming from a childhood right out of a Dickens novel.

Yet onward his feet pressed. He walked and walked until he’d climbed the couple of stairs leading up the porch to the front door of the cabin in which the woman he wanted not just for the night but for the rest of his existence was probably fast asleep. The cool metal in his hand singed his fingers as he stuffed it into the lock. As much as he wanted to turn it, though, he couldn’t. He’d frozen once again. The all-too familiar twinge of panic started to set in.

Just as he was about to turn and walk away, Sandor noticed a small piece of paper taped to the front door of the cabin. Though the porch light was on, it was still fairly dark out here since they were in the middle of fucking nowhere. Fumbling for his cell phone, he toggled on the flashlight to see what it said.

_Hey Sandor,_

_In case you get in late, don’t worry about waking me up. I’m kind of a night owl, so I’ll probably be up watching T.V. or something. And hey – if you get home early enough, maybe we can catch a movie together. I brought some microwave popcorn!_

A huge grin spread across his mangled countenance at the smiley face drawn on the paper.

_See you soon, roomie!_

_\- Sansa_

_P.S. I sleep on the left side of the bed – just letting you know in case I do crash before you get here!_

Sandor gulped. She really did mean for him to be here. She _wanted_ him here.

_Roomie._

_Together._

_Home._

“Fuck it,” Sandor growled as he shoved the key in the lock once again. As the door swung wide, there sat Sansa all snuggled under a blanket while sitting on the couch, the television turned down low as some superhero flick danced about the screen.

“Hey!” she said with a huge smile as he entered the cabin. “I just started this one, so if you want me. . .to. . .” Her words trailed off as Sandor stalked toward her, his jaw set firm and his gray eyes focused on her so intently, he hoped he wasn’t scaring her. Once in front of the couch, in silence he held out his hand. Slowly – but not reluctantly – she took his in hers and rose to her feet. As the blanket fell to the floor, she stood before him in a ridiculous pair of llama-print pajamas, her whole face an amalgam of confusion and anticipation. And before he could think himself out of doing what he’d wanted to do for months now, he bent down, angling his head as he came closer and closer to her, his gut clenching when her thick lashes fluttered shut in expectation of what he was about to do.

Time and space ceased to exist when their lips connected, the soft, tentative press of his being swiftly overtaken by the greedy push of hers. She wound around him like a snake, her hands in his hair and down his back and diving inside his shirt seemingly all at once, the desperation and need radiating from her equal to if not more urgent than his own. The sounds of gunfire and explosions resonating in the living room couldn’t drown out the moans and pants and shouts of praise reverberating off the walls of the cabin as they found their release right there on the couch, the pair barely undressed yet connected in all the right places.

Still lying on the couch, Sansa on her back and Sandor still hovering above her (and inside her), the two of them stared at one another in silence while catching their breath, their chests rising and falling in synch. He didn’t know what in the hell had just happened – well, he knew what happened, obviously, but still – between them. He’d thought she might scream for help when he’d dared to kiss her, not scream his name in ecstasy shortly thereafter.

Holy shit. This was definitely a game-changer. Now what?

“I thought you’d never make a move,” Sansa finally spoke, her voice low and throaty as she gently stroked his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “But Jesus, when you do. . .”

And when they’d finally managed to clamber to their feet and they’d stripped off the rest of their garments, her leading him to the bedroom – _their_ bedroom – like a siren calling him to his sweet, sweet demise, Sandor smiled like the proverbial kid in the candy store.

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This. Can’t. Be. Happening. . ._


End file.
